This charity now
from a bored wolf
gorged on habit
unmoved by thy flaunt and flight

little rabbit
it is of no track
nor concern to hunt thee-
even thy tears, dear rabbit
are only tasted when pranced about

And always;

Always, of the 'morrow
at pitiable pace and slack
of silent bark and jowl
gnaws the trap 'round thy leg
fitful of thy freedom, lo rabbit
'ware this bored wolf of habit

She traced for me a kiss so sweet

A flower grew between our teeth,

Four arms they wove a tangly wreath

In a bed of summer leaf.